


Harry

by ohnoscarlett



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, BBC Radio1, Gen, Jane Austen AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 14:19:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/901279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohnoscarlett/pseuds/ohnoscarlett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Styles is handsome, clever, rich, and has a tendency to put his nose in where it doesn't belong; like in other people's relationships.  It doesn't go well.</p>
<p>An Emma AU.  Written for reel_1d.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Harry

_The most beautiful thing in the world is a match well made_ , Harry thought cheerfully to himself as he looked out amongst the wedding guests. He watched as his mother carefully found herself an acceptable place to sit, and then made his way to the happy couple with his gift: a painted bauble.

Harry humbly offered the gift to Matt, who took it in both hands and held it up high before catching Harry in a tight hug.

“So lovely, Harry, thank you,” said Matt’s new husband, the excellent Mr. Aiden Grimshaw, dressed in a dove gray suit. Harry blushed at the quiet praise.

“It would be beautiful if I had actually practiced my painting,” Harry replied, scuffing his shoes on the flagstones.

“I hate to disagree…” put in a voice over Harry’s shoulder. Harry turned to find another Mr. Grimshaw (unrelated): Nicholas Grimshaw, the vicar, wearing his long dark robes. Harry grinned at him and moved a little closer to his mother.

“Harry, the church is drafty,” Lady Anne remarked upon seeing her son so near. Harry stepped up to her chair and gently tucked her shawl more snugly around her shoulders. She thanked him with a smile, and he gazed down lovingly upon her.

“Would you care for some tea and cake, my lady?” asked Mr. Grimshaw, bending down slightly so she would not have to crane her neck to look up at him. He was quite tall.

“Oh, no, thank you, Mr. Grimshaw. Surely not. It wouldn’t suit my constitution,” Lady Anne replied, looking around and fidgeting with her lacy shawl. “Where’s the apothecary?”

“He’s over there, Lady Anne,” Matt pointed out helpfully, “enjoying some cake.”

***

Harry’s closest personal friend was his nearest neighbor, Mr. Gregory James. Most days, Mr. James visited Hartfield, Harry’s family estate. It wasn’t every day, for often Harry would make his way to Donwell Abbey for a visit of his own. Harry preferred the days that found Mr. James in their sitting room, though, just like one of the family.

“Poor Mr. Cardle,” Lady Anne said mournfully. “He was happy here, and we were happy to have him. Why did he have to give up being your tutor only to be married?”

“I am grown, mother,” Harry replied, a little sad himself. “I no longer need a tutor.”

“You will always need a tutor,” Mr. James put in. Harry looked up with a wide smile across his face, pushing his errant curls behind one ear as Mr. James got himself settled. “How was the wedding?”

“How is my sister?” Harry swiftly changed the subject. “Is your brother giving her the respect we Styleses deserve?”

“Poor Gemma,” Lady Anne sniffled. “She was the first to go. It must be where Mr. Cardle got the idea.”

“It must be easier to have only one to please than two,” suggested Mr. James.

“Especially when one of us is troublesome,” Harry said with a devilish gleam in his eye. His mother drooped, and Harry hopped out of his chair to comfort her. “No, mother, not you. Mr. James likes to find fault with me. He thinks he’s funny.”

“I am practically a brother, am I not?” Mr. James pointed out. Harry simply pressed his lips together.

“But poor Harry,” Lady Anne patted Harry’s hand as he embraced her. “You must miss Mr. Cardle terribly.”

“We would not like Harry half so much if he did not miss his friend,” Mr. James said agreeably.

“I shall miss him,” Harry declared. “He can no longer sit and talk with me, or ride with me, or aid me in my studies.”

“That should not matter!” Mr. James laughed. “You always did exactly as you pleased anyway!”

“Yes, but I will miss it all the same.”

“You must be happy for him, at least,” Mr. James said, with some little bit of wonder.

“Of course!” Harry replied brightly. “People said that Mr. Grimshaw would never marry, and look!”

“It was a lucky guess, Harry.”

“It was a great deal of encouragement,” Harry replied firmly.

“Please, my dear boy, encourage no one else,” implored his mother. “Marriage is so disrupting to one’s social circle. I had just gotten used to having Mr. Cardle in the house.”

“He had been here for nearly ten years, mother,” Harry said with a laugh. Harry had practically grown up with Matt Cardle in residence as his tutor. If anything, _they_ were nearly brothers. “One more, though. Did you not see? When the vicar joined their hands today, he looked very much as if he would--“ Mr. James groaned dramatically. “What?” Harry wondered. “What have I done?”

“Nicholas Grimshaw is a man of twenty-nine,” sighed Mr. James, who was very nearly that age himself and thought himself knowledgeable. “He knows how to take care of himself.”

“I assure you he does not,” Harry said confidently.

“Poor Mr. Cardle indeed. It’s Nick Grimshaw who deserves our pity,” replied Mr. James with a weary shake of his head. “Poor Mr. Grimshaw. Look out, Harry. You may soon get in over your head.”

***

The Highbury social circle was quite active. Harry liked to hold frequent dinner parties with varying combinations of all his friends and neighbors. Lady Anne really had little to worry about with many comings and goings, but they did happen from time to time.

Harry snagged Mr. Grimshaw as he came in to the brightly lit parlor.

“I’m so glad you could be here!” Harry said effusively, which made Mr. Grimshaw stand up straighter and smile broadly. “We have someone new to our group. His name is Liam Payne, and he is an associate of Mr. Samuels, the schoolteacher. I have never met him before this evening and I am already struck by his charm. I wondered if I might ask you to make certain he is at ease throughout the evening?”

“If helping Mr. Payne would help Mr. Styles, then I am happy to be of service,” Mr. Grimshaw replied, not even bothering to look around the room for an unknown face. Harry shrugged and clapped him on the shoulder happily. The plan to unite Liam and Mr. Grimshaw was moving along wonderfully.

The clatter of feet signaling another guest’s entrance pulled Harry away from Nick Grimshaw—Little Mix, a group of young ladies who resided in town all of their own accord. It was highly unusual, but they were a good sort, so Harry felt he had no reason to be unreceptive to them, even if they were excessively talkative. They were all intelligent and lovely and charming friends. Harry felt that if it was acceptable for a man to choose not to take a wife, then the opposite should also be true. Little Mix got along all on their own; no husbands in sight, nor wives either.

Harry noticed Mr. James talking with Liam Payne and quickly extricated himself from the group of ladies to go join the gentlemen before he was trapped in an endless loop of conversation in which he was required to participate very little.

“Where will you live now that you’ve completed your education, Mr. Payne?” asked Mr. James.

“Mr. Samuels has been kind enough to let me join him,” replied Mr. Payne. “We were schoolmates for a time, and it is nice to see a friendly face.”

Mr. James nodded before turning to acknowledge Harry.

“I wondered where you were. But I see you’ve been hard at work making Mr. Grimshaw comfortable.”

“Yes, but…” Harry looked over to where Mr. Grimshaw had trailed him across the room. “Mr. Grimshaw, may I present Mr. Payne.”

Harry grinned, and he saw that although Mr. James fought it, there was a smile there too. Mr. James tried to portray himself as a very serious sort of gentleman, but Harry knew better.

The highlight of the evening was of course a pleasant dinner. Harry loved having everyone around the table, conversing happily with one another. It gave him the chance to catch up with anything he may have missed around the neighborhood. Not that it happened that often.

“Mr. Cardle-Grimshaw,” Harry said pointedly, enjoying how both of his friends looked up at the name, waiting for him to specify which of them he meant. “Have you any news of your brother?”

“Oh, indeed!” Aiden replied. He bent his head to explain to Mr. Payne, who did not know the story. “Mr. Payne, my late father was married many years ago to the woman who would become my mother. She died soon after I was born, and in short time, my father married again, for he felt I needed a mother. His luck was no better with his second wife though, for upon the birth of my half brother, Louis, she too expired, and my father followed her soon after from the shock of another loss.”

“Oh dear!” murmured Mr. Payne sympathetically.

“So my brother and I were left orphaned,” continued Aiden. “I was raised by my late mother’s brother and his wife, and the same was true for Louis: he was raised by _his_ mother’s brother and his wife.”

“It’s all rather confusing,” Mr. Payne put in, eyebrows drawn together in a most charming fashion.

“It is, I agree,” Aiden replied. “But the point, while my brother Louis and I spent summers together on our grandparents’ estate, is that he has never been here.”

“His coming would be final blessing for our marriage,” suggested Matt, the other Mr. Cardle-Grimshaw. “I had a letter from him, if anyone would care to see it.”

Everyone read the letter from Aiden Cardle-Grimshaw’s half brother Louis Tomlinson. Mr. James found himself surrounded by the Highbury ladies, cooing about how it was a charming and kindly letter. Then Harry and Mr. Grimshaw stood by as Lady Anne read through, concerned for his health and dietary habits. Finally, Aiden and Matt observed the newcomer, Mr. Payne, with his friend Mr. Samuels, as they declared it an excellent letter, with feeling, and confident penmanship.

In time, Harry managed to detach Matt from his adoring new husband to make their way around the room.

“Isn’t Liam delightful?” Harry said excitedly. “He seems uncertain, but I thought I could undertake his introduction into Highbury society.”

“He could not ask for better,” Matt agreed. They soon came upon Aiden and Lady Anne, and Matt conspicuously looked at the clock. “Come, Mr. Cardle-Grimshaw,” he said with a faint blush, “I must write to your brother.”

Harry let them go and clasped his mother’s hand.

***

Not long after the dinner party, Harry began to find every opportunity to visit with Liam. They often walked the streets of Highbury, for it gave them ample time to talk.

“What kind of people are your parents?” Harry asked. Liam shrugged. His attire followed the fashions of the day, like Harry’s, but was of lesser quality. Liam worked for what he had, and it made Harry proud of him, but he liked to know more.

“They sent me off to school, made sure I was educated,” Liam said vaguely. “Let’s leave it at that. I’m here to manage the school with Andy—I mean, Mr. Samuels, now.”

“Oh!” Harry exclaimed, distracted and grabbing hastily at Liam’s arm to drag him under a shop awning. “Hurry along, Liam, its Miss Edwards coming. As it is Tuesday she will have a letter from her cousin, Zayn Malik, and she will want to read us every word about him.”

“I do not know Mr. Malik,” Liam replied naively.

“Not much to be said,” Harry said, rather too close to rude. “When pressed, I say he is elegant. Would you like to walk in the orchard instead?”

***

“Now, besides you, and Mr. Samuels, the only other people I know here are the Horans, of Abbeymill Farm,” Liam told him.

“Mrs. Horan had two parlors, an oven maid, and eight cows. And Mr. Horan used to cut fresh flowers every day.”

“Lucky for Mrs. Horan to have such an agreeable husband,” said Harry, nodding along and swinging a stick at the tall grass lining the path.

“Mr. Horan is not her husband, he is her son!” Liam exclaimed, laughing. Harry’s eyes widened.

“And he is… unmarried.”

“Yes, but I cannot understand why. He seems perfect in every particular,” Liam replied, somewhat wistfully.

Harry was concerned. He steered both Liam and the conversation toward the stream, and pointed out how the fishes liked to hide in certain deep pools, and if you looked for the herons, they would show you the way. But Harry was too curious.

“Tell me more about Mr. Horan. Is he a man of information?”

“He reads the agricultural reports,” Liam said, clearly somewhat confused as to why Harry should care. “And for fun I gave him some sheet music and he said he would look it over.”

“What sort of looking man is he?” Harry continued. Liam looked at him askance but answered him anyway.

“I thought him very plain at first, but I do not think so now. Have you never seen him when he was in town?”

“Well—“

“There he is now, Mr. Styles!” Liam said excitedly. “How do I look?”

“Good?”

Harry was perplexed and reduced to monosyllabic replies. He watched as an energetic and sprightly young man wove his way around a gaggle of geese along the streambank and made his way purposefully toward them. His face lit up when he saw Liam, and when he got close enough, Harry could see his blue eyes sparkle.

“Good day. Well this is a bit of a chance, isn’t it!” said Mr. Horan. Harry was shocked to realize that he was Irish. They were rather in the middle of nowhere in the English countryside.

“Good day to you, Mr. Horan!” replied Liam. “Mr. Styles, may I present Mr. Horan? This is Mr. Styles!”

“How do you do?” Mr. Horan asked politely. Harry waved lamely, but Liam ignored his lapse in manners and stepped up to walk with his friend.

“Were you able to find time to look at the music?”

“Oh _buggeration_ , I forgot. I try my best to do so tomorrow,” Mr. Horan said sheepishly.

The three continued along the path back toward Hartfield, with Liam chatting amiably with Mr. Horan. Harry remained silent, watching the pair as they interacted, easy and comfortably. He couldn’t help but frown.

***

Harry and Liam ended their foray with cool drinks under a canopy in the garden. It was getting warm, but Liam was clearly flush with more than the heat, and Harry was concerned. It would not do.

“May I ask what you thought of my friend, Niall Horan?” Liam asked, setting his drink down carefully.

“I imagined him a degree nearer gentility…” Harry replied hesitantly. It was hard to be discouraging without being rude. And Harry abhorred rudeness.

“He is not so genteel as Mr. James,” Liam sighed.

“No, I agree,” Harry said, mood brightening. “But let us judge him next to another man, say, Mr. Grimshaw. Mr. Grimshaw is a fine man, wouldn’t you say?”

“Oh yes, quite fine,” Liam replied.

“Did Mr. Horan take your advice and look at the music you asked him to read?” Harry asked, knowing full well what the answer would be.

“Um, well, no,” Liam said, reaching for his drink and looking into it like it would give him advice. “I wonder that he did not remember it.”

“Oh well,” Harry said off-handedly, yet inside, he was cheering victory. “Mr. Grimshaw said something very kind about you the other day.”

“Will you not tell me what it was?” Liam brightened considerably and Harry grinned at him.

“It’s not my place to intrude,” he said coyly. Liam wilted a little. “But as your friend I could make an exception if you wish.”  
It was working perfectly. Liam and Mr. Grimshaw would make an excellent match.

***

To pass the time, Harry convinced Liam to sit for a portrait that he would draw himself. He did not have great skill as an artist, but it was passable, and he had a way with color that tended to make up for any flaws in the structure of the piece itself. It generally worked out.

Harry mentioned this plan to Mr. Grimshaw one day, and it was as if lightning struck. Mr. Grimshaw appeared extremely excited by this possibility.

“I would love to watch you draw him,” Mr. Grimshaw said enthusiastically. Harry was a bit put back by his fervor.

“Mr. Grimshaw, my skills are slender indeed,” Harry replied slowly. “And we must not forget how shy Mr. Payne is.”

“What if I asked him to pose for you?”

“I think that would help immensely, Mr. Grimshaw,” Harry said, even though he knew Liam was already on board with the idea. It would only help matters if Mr. Grimshaw got involved in the project. Harry managed to curb the smile that threatened to spread across his face, but only just.

Within the week, Harry and Liam had decided the setting for his portrait: a leafy arbor in the garden. And the scene: Liam would pose as a Greek god, complete with a golden lyre and a laurel wreath atop his head. At first, Liam thought it rather ridiculous and improper, but Harry worked his charm and convinced him.

It was sublime. Liam stood in a leafy bower, the sunlight trickling through the leaves and dappling his skin. The snowy tunic he wore made his skin shine golden in the light, enhancing the fine muscles of his arms that Harry was surprised to uncover, as well as his prominent collarbones. Liam’s eyes sparkled under his mass of unruly curls that Harry had laughingly mussed, as Liam fussed that he had let his hair grow too long for propriety’s sake. Harry simply chucked him under the chin and tucked the leafy wreath at a jaunty angle and pronounced him a vision. It was spectacular.

Mr. Grimshaw paced impatiently while Harry drew. It was disconcerting. Harry paused frequently to frown at his audience, but it had no discernible effect.

“Mr. Styles, may I look please? I cannot wait another second,” Mr. Grimshaw suddenly exclaimed. Harry and Liam exchanged a brief look before Harry nodded and Mr. Grimshaw trotted close to look over his shoulder. “Incredible,” he breathed. “You have expressed him completely!”

“Mr. Grimshaw, _really_. You exaggerate,” Harry chided. The drawing, as it was, consisted of Liam’s head. “The reason I have not done a portrait in so long is because the spouse of the subject always complains,” Harry went on. “As there are no husbands or wives here I trust I may proceed safely.”

There was a very pregnant pause.

“No husbands or wives at present, Mr. Styles,” Mr. Grimshaw said carefully. Harry and Liam shared another glance. Liam fairly glowed. Harry bent his head back to his drawing, confident in the success of his matchmaking.

Mr. James found them later, when the portrait of Liam was much closer to complete. He stood quietly for several moments just observing the scene before he spoke.

“You’ve made him too tall.”

Harry scowled up him from his seat on a stool.

“Surely it is the height of his character,” Mr. Grimshaw defended earnestly.

Lady Anne was the first outside that group to see the portrait in its completed state. She looked at it critically for a long while before she passed her judgment and declared that Liam looked cold.

“It only needs a suitable frame,” Lady Anne said at last. “Then it will be truly complete.”

Mr. Grimshaw fairly snatched the portrait from Lady Anne’s hands in declaring that it would be him to do the job. Harry and Liam looked at each other once more, certain that the job had indeed been done.

***

Liam found Harry just before he entered Ford’s store. He was in a state, so Harry steered him away from the door and back down the street.

“He wants to marry me!” Liam said breathlessly, clutching a crumpled letter in his hands. “Would you mind reading…”

“I cannot believe Mr. Grimshaw proposed!” Harry said in answer, reaching for the sheet of paper. Liam stopped short.

“Not Mr. Grimshaw,” Liam said with a note of incredulity, as if Harry was daft to believe so. “My friend, Mr. Horan. Is it a good letter?”

“It is,” Harry said shortly, reading quickly through the neatly printed lines to confirm what Liam had said. “We must answer it immediately. He must have his disappointment and move on.”

“You think…” Liam said hesitantly, “you think I should refuse him?”

“What was your intent?”

“I did not—um, well, I was not sure. That is why I came to you,” Liam replied, looking at his feet.

“It is not my place to intrude,” Harry said, treading carefully. Liam’s head snapped up.

“But I depend so on what you think, Mr. Styles.”

“I would not advise you for the world,” Harry went on. “However, if you prefer Mr. Horan to every other person you know or may ever know… If you think him the most agreeable man you have ever been or ever will be in company with, then why should you hesitate?”

“Put like that… I must do as well as I can. I am determined to—and I really almost have made up my mind to—refuse Mr. Horan. Do you think that’s right? Or wrong? Is it wrong?”

“Now that you have decided,” Harry said, turning to Liam with a smile, “I think you are perfectly right.”

“Yes,” Liam said softly. He didn’t sound the least bit convinced. Harry, however, was certain it was the right thing to do.

***

Once Harry had dispatched Liam at Mr. Samuel’s, then went home and checked in on his mother, he walked leisurely and contentedly over to visit his dearest friend. The James estate, Donwell Abbey, while large, was a mere half mile from Hartfield. He found Mr. James ready to partake in a round of archery, which Harry was only too happy to join.

“I admit it,” Mr. James began somewhat reluctantly, “you have improved Liam Payne.”

“Ha! I hope you are not the only man to have noticed,” Harry said triumphantly. He grinned as his arrow hit the target.

“I’m not. I know I’m not,” Mr. James replied. “I believe your friend will soon hear something serious.”

“What? Who?” asked Harry, leaning on his bow like a walking stick before thinking better of it.

“I have reason to believe that Liam Payne will soon receive an offer of marriage from a man desperately in love with him.”

“Ha!” Harry shouted. He was apparently a better shot when things were going his way.

“Niall Horan.”

“What? Wait,” Harry said with a frown.

“Yes,” Mr. James nodded, pausing to release an arrow straight into the bullseye. Harry scowled at him and chewed at his lip.

“He came here two evenings ago to consult about it. He’s a tenant, you know, and a good friend. He asked whether it would be imprudent of him to settle so early; whether Liam was too young, or whether he was beneath him.”

“Better questions I could not have chosen myself,” Harry replied frostily. Mr. James ignored him and went on.

“I never hear better sense from anyone than from Niall Horan.”

“No, indeed,” Harry grumbled. “I will tell you something in return. He wrote to Liam yesterday.” Harry let off another shot, disappointing, as it landed near the edge of the target. “He was refused.”

“I don’t understand,” replied Mr. James.

“Mr. Horan asked, and Liam refused,” Harry clarified.

“Then he is a simpleton,” stated Mr. James sourly. He fired off another perfect arrow.

“The most incomprehensible thing in the world to a man is someone who rejects his offer of marriage!”

“I hope you are wrong,” Mr. James said, shaking his head.

“I could not be. I saw his answer.”

“ _Harry._ You wrote his answer, didn’t you?” Mr. James said disapprovingly.

“He is not Liam’s equal.”

“He is not. He is superior in sense and situation,” Mr. James replied, with some fire. “What are Liam Payne’s claims of birth or education that make him higher than Niall Horan? The advantage of the match was entirely on his side.”

“A butcher?” Harry scoffed. “Even with all his merit, a match to my dear friend? It would be a degradation for him to marry a person whom I could not admit as my own acquaintance.”

“Degradation? For illegitimacy and ignorance to marry a respected, intelligent butcher?”

“He is a gentleman’s son!” Harry argued, thumping the butt of his bow on the ground.

“They made no plans to introduce him into good society. His friends evidently thought this was good enough for him, and it was, and he thought so too until you began to puff him up. Men of sense, whatever you may say, do not want silly spouses.” Harry turned away in a huff and tried to focus on the target. His last arrow missed completely and he could feel Mr. James’ eyes on him. “Try not to kill my dogs.”

“Let’s stop and have some tea,” Harry said in reply.

The tea may as well have been acid for all that Harry and Mr. James enjoyed it. Harry sulked, and Mr. James sat in stony silence. Any other time, Harry would have poked fun at him, but not this time. Mr. James finally broke the silence.

“Clearly, Harry, you have someone else in mind for your friend. But if the gentleman you dream of is Mr. Grimshaw, your labor is in vain. As vicar, Nick is unlikely to make an imprudent match. Especially to someone of obscurity, who may bring him disgrace. In unreserved moments, I have heard him speak of a large family of young ladies from Bath, who all have 20,000 pounds apiece. Believe me when I tell you that he may talk sentimentally, but he will act rationally.”

“But Mr. Grimshaw doesn’t even fancy ladies!” Harry blurted out before clapping a hand over his mouth.

Mr. James looked almost sad as he spoke again.

“Not everyone can afford a love match, Harry.”

***

Mr. Grimshaw did indeed travel to London to get the portrait framed. He brought it back, and Harry found an excellent spot for it among those already hung upon the walls. At it’s unveiling, Mr. Grimshaw in particular clapped the loudest. And longest.

It became a little party amongst those friends invited to see the new portrait of Liam in its shiny new frame. Harry mingled with the Cardle-Grimshaw’s as well as his mother, Mr. James, and Liam. With the portrait complete, Harry needed another task to encourage Liam and Mr. Grimshaw together. They decided to collect riddles for a little book. And Harry decided to start the collection by asking Mr. Grimshaw.

“Harry, you didn’t ask me to contribute a riddle,” Mr. James put in, smiling like he had one ready on his tongue.

“Your entire personality is a riddle, Mr. James,” Harry replied. “I thought you overqualified.”

Liam stifled a giggle, while Mr. Grimshaw raised a sardonic eyebrow. Harry was well pleased with himself, and happy to wait until the following day for Mr. Grimshaw to send an offering.

He did.

Harry wasted no time in driving the carriage himself to Mr. Samuels’ to find Liam. He found Liam sitting in the garden, enjoying the sunny day. Harry practically leapt from the carriage to meet him.

“This just came from Mr. Grimshaw!” Harry said breathlessly. “He claims it is a riddle for your collection, but I think it is much better!”

Harry thrust the note into Liam’s hands and sat at his side, waiting impatiently as Liam read the riddle. And re-read the riddle, with a charmingly perplexed frown.

“Is it about sharks?” Liam wondered.

“For heaven’s sake, why would he write a riddle about sharks?” Harry replied, exasperated. He had read the note as soon as it had arrived at his house, of course. It was most definitely not about sharks; of that he was certain. “Let’s read it aloud.

“ _For Mr…_ I think we can safely put in Payne,” Harry began with a grin. “Line 1: _my first displays the wealth and pomp of kings, lords of the earth, their luxury and ease._ ” Liam merely stared at him. “A king displays his pomp in court. Next line. _Another view of man my second brings. Behold him there, the monarch of the seas._ ”

“A mermaid. A trident?” Liam guessed.

“A ship,” said Harry decisively. “Then, _The two terms should be united._ ”

“Ship and court. Court… courtship,” Liam exclaimed. “He writes to me about courtship!”

“I have no doubt as to Mr. Grimshaw’s intentions. You are his desire,” Harry leaned in and said in a fierce whisper. “We must find a way for the two of you to be alone.”

“Let’s read it again and again!” said Liam happily. Harry sat back and crossed one long leg over the other.

“I only wish that Mr. James would walk by so that he could read it.”

***

Harry convinced Liam to join him when he went out to check on the tenants surrounding Highbury. He felt it his duty, as the son of the landowner, to assure that the people living on the estate had everything they needed. A previous visit found one of the tenants in poor health, a situation where Harry could definitely use some assistance.

Harry and Liam trundled off to one of the tiny cottages scattered across the countryside, weighed down with baskets of food, medicines, and various supplies. Harry made sure the poor woman ate some soup, and they set out fruit and vegetables and bread on the table for the rest of the family. Liam was awkward, but Harry didn’t fault him. It was his first time doing such work, and he didn’t know what to do. Once he gained some confidence, Harry was sure Liam would be just fine.

They walked by Mr. Grimshaw’s house on the way back. It was a little out of the way, but Harry was still trying to contrive a reason to get them together. He had none.

“I do so wonder, Mr. Styles, that you are not married,” Liam said, gazing hopefully down the lane at the cozy vicar’s house.

“I have no inducements to marry,” Harry replied. “I lack neither fortune nor position, and never could I be so important in anyone’s eyes as I am in my mother’s.”

“But to be an old bachelor,” Liam said with a wrinkled nose. “An _old maid_.”

Harry laughed.

“It is only poverty which makes celibacy contemptible. A single man of good fortune is always respectable.” Harry rocked back on his heels and put his hands in his pockets, grinning. His grin widened when he saw Mr. Grimshaw rounding the bend.

“How fortunate! I was just on my way to visit the Clarks,” he declared.

“We were just there,” said Harry.

“May I escort you home?” asked Mr. Grimshaw.

“Indeed,” Harry replied, stepping around to Liam’s other side so that he could walk next to Mr. Grimshaw rather than Harry.

“Liam, tell Mr. Grimshaw what you did at the Clarks’.”

Liam visibly faltered and Harry forced his face to remain neutral. Liam had knocked over baskets in his haste to help. But he was unfamiliar with the cottage, and it had been dimly lit. He had dropped vegetables all over the floor when he had tried so valiantly to keep quiet once poor, sick Mrs. Clark had fallen asleep. Harry had simply thumped him on the shoulder and helped to right things.

Harry dropped back, fussing with his shoe. Liam caught on, and began to regale Mr. Grimshaw with a tale based vaguely on their visit to the Clark cottage. Mr. Grimshaw, though, hesitated, looking back to wait for Harry. He waved them on, and amazingly, they went.

After a sufficient amount of time passed for Liam and Mr. Grimshaw to be a good deal ahead of him, Harry stood and brushed the dust off his trousers. When he could see Liam and Mr. Grimshaw leaning up against the fence at the end of the lane, Harry paused. He stood silently, crossing his fingers. Liam laughed, and Mr. Grimshaw smiled. It looked promising.

“I _love_ \--simply adore—“ declared Mr. Grimshaw, “celery root.”

Harry scowled and rejoined his friend.

***

Harry’s older sister, Gemma, was married to Mr. Charles James, the elder brother of his friend, Mr. Gregory James. The families had always been close: friends as well as near neighbors, and it was a happy circumstance that their children would join in marriage. It pleased Harry to no end that his dear sister was happily matched, and with someone so well suited to her. One oddity, though, was that the elder brother chose to live in the family’s London house, and allowed the younger to remain at the country home.

Mr. James—Greg—often joked that Charles and Gemma would soon evict him, for surely once they had a family of their own they would choose to reside in the country. Harry argued the contrary. His sister loved London, and thrived there. She would never abide by the country again now that she had been in that great city. And indeed it seemed Harry was in the right. Gemma had borne a child, a lovely thing called Isabella, and yet she and her husband remained in their town house. But they visited occasionally, and Harry was beside himself doting on his tiny niece.

Her grandmother was skeptical.

“Harry, be careful, the baby!” Lady Anne urged. Harry checked himself. “It might have an infection!”

Harry playfully scowled down at the tiny figure in his lap, tossing his curls and making her laugh.

“This may be the finest James yet,” Greg said with an indulgent smile. “You and Gemma should have brought her sooner. And she looks so fetching in the arms of her uncle.”

Harry grinned up at his friend as he bounced Isabella on his knee. He was still a bit cross, but he and Mr. James—Greg—had been friends for as long as Harry could remember. It was difficult to reconcile the two sides of him; Mr. James, the gentleman neighbor, and Greg, the close friend—practically family. Harry never knew what to call him, so he only ever referred to his friend by his given name when they were in company with his brother as well. To avoid confusion. But Greg rarely called Harry anything other than Harry. It gave him a bit of a thrill, that they were intimates enough that the tall and elegant Mr. James would call him by his name. Yet Harry remained proper. At least for propriety’s sake.

“If you accepted adults as you do this child we would always agree,” Greg said as he sat down beside Harry and Isabella. Harry couldn’t decide if the child looked more like a Styles or a James.

“It’s fascinating that _I_ must always be wrong,” Harry replied.

“True,” Greg said with a chuckle. Harry shot him a look. “Perhaps it has something to do with the gap in our ages. I was all of eight years old when you were born.”

“Oh yes,” Harry countered with a touch of sarcasm, “undoubtedly you were superior then, but hasn’t the lapse of nearly twenty years closed the gap?”

“Somewhat,” Greg allowed. “Come, dear Harry, let us be friends and quarrel no more.”

Harry sighed.

“Might I say that we were both right as far as good intentions went.” Harry looked imploringly upon his friend, waiting for his face to show a sign. “I am very sorry.”

Greg nodded and gripped Harry’s shoulder briefly before changing the conversation to happier matters and stealing the baby away.

***

The winter season in Highbury was filled with parties. Harry loved parties, and it was this that prevented him from missing his sister terribly much after she and her family returned to London. Their mother had suffered a long stretch of ill health after Gemma’s marriage, and came out of it very much changed. She was anxious and delicate, yet at the same time sharper of tongue. Harry adored her, but often found it difficult to keep her happy. Frequent parties kept him busy socially, and less apt to fret over his lady mother’s whims.

Harry’s favorite event every year was Aiden Grimshaw’s Christmas Eve party. Now it was the Cardle-Grimshaw’s Christmas Eve party, and Harry was in high spirits when he had the carriage call around for Nick Grimshaw along the way. Mr. Grimshaw was in a similar state.

“I am so looking forward to this evening!” Mr. Grimshaw declared with a toothy grin. Harry returned the smile and patted his mother’s hand.

“I do have some sad news though,” Harry said. “Mr. Payne is ill and cannot be with us this evening.”

“A sad loss,” Mr. Grimshaw replied gloomily. “However, I feel that small parties are the best.” Harry gaped at him, but Mr. Grimshaw went on as if Harry made no reaction at all. “How fortunate the snow comes now instead of yesterday when it might have made our party impossible. Now, that would have been a real cause for sadness, would it not?”

Harry was horrified into silence all the way to Aiden Cardle-Grimshaw’s door.

Harry managed to evade Mr. Grimshaw fairly successfully for much of the evening, simply due to the bustle of the crowd. Harry spoke with Gemma and Charles at length, and of course Greg. The conversation flowed smoothly into dinner, when Harry was finally able to speak to their host.

“We have a letter from Louis!” Aiden declared joyfully. “He is coming at last!”

“I so look forward to meeting him!” Harry replied, “that is, if you can bear to share him.”

“That is, if his aunt will share him with us,” Matt put in, somewhat sternly. “She has said yes, but has not yet given a date.”

“I should hope she does so soon,” Harry said eagerly. He could hardly wait to move the conversation back to the parlor.

Harry had barely opened his mouth to begin afresh with Greg when Mr. Grimshaw cut in.

“I hope I’m not intruding, but I cannot stop thinking about Mr. Payne.”

“He will be happy to know of your concern,” Harry replied, not bothering to suppress the pleased expression on his face.

“How could I not be concerned? The whole situation is most alarming,” said Mr. Grimshaw. Harry tried not to gloat. “I must ask you to stop visiting him.”

“ _What?_ ” Harry asked, shocked.

“You are putting yourself at risk,” Mr. Grimshaw continued. “We cannot allow that, can we, James?” Greg took an involuntary step back and made a face that in any other circumstance Harry would have thought to be prelude to a laugh.

Harry was distressed. At that moment, though, he was saved by his sister’s excellent husband.

“Harry, the weather is distressing your mother and she wants to leave,” he pointed out delicately. Harry could kiss him. He had an escape. “Gemma and I will take her home now in our carriage.”

Harry glowered at Charles. He had been so close.

“Not to worry, sir,” put in Mr. Grimshaw helpfully. “I will ensure that your brother-in-law is safely home.”

Harry bit his tongue on the drive home. It was snowing harder, and the driver went much more slowly than he had on the way to the Cardle-Grimshaw’s. It was endless. Harry sulked in silence until Mr. Grimshaw hopped over to his seat.

“Mr. Styles,” he said breathlessly, “fate has left us alone for a reason.”

“Good heavens, go back,” Harry replied bluntly, flapping his hands at the empty seat across the carriage. Mr. Grimshaw ignored him.

“Please, I am ready to die if you refuse me,” he went on. Harry held his breath. “Surely I cannot help but to have made an impression.”

“Mr. Grimshaw,” Harry tried sensibly, “the party spirit has confused you. I am happy to deliver your message to Mr. Payne.”

“What sort of message would I want to send to him?”

“Mr. Grimshaw,” Harry continued, “for you to—“

“I love you.”

Harry blinked.

“For you to address me in this manner after your behavior to Mr. Payne—“

“I never cared about Mr. Payne except that he was your friend,” Mr. Grimshaw stated callously. “Who can think of Mr. Payne when Mr. Styles is near?”

Harry was sure Mr. Grimshaw could clearly see the revulsion written plainly across his face. He needed a moment. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to marry. He most certainly didn’t want to marry Mr. Grimshaw.

“Allow me to interpret this silence: you have long understood me,” Mr. Grimshaw said softly.

“Sit back,” Harry snapped. Mr. Grimshaw did, somewhat reluctantly. “Am I to understand that you never sought to recommend yourself to Mr. Payne?”

“Did you not understand the riddle I wrote?” Mr. Grimshaw wondered.

“That was for Liam!”

“I most obviously did not address it to him, and left it at _your home_ ,” Mr. Grimshaw pointed out. “I need not so totally despair of an equal alliance as to address myself to Mr. Payne! I sought to recommend myself to _you_.”

“I have seen you only as the admirer of my friend,” Harry said conclusively.

The rest of the drive was silent. Mr. Grimshaw slid back to the other side of the carriage and avoided Harry’s gaze. It was just as well, for Harry didn’t want to look at him anyway.

***

Harry rushed back to his friends the next day. He found Matt in his parlor and found himself in a flurry of emotions. He didn’t know where to start, so he just leaped into it.

“You will not believe it, but Mr. Grimshaw—now prepare yourself, but—“

“Mr. Grimshaw is in love with you,” Matt cut in calmly.

“You knew?” Harry squawked.

“I had my suspicions, but the party confirmed it,” Matt said. Harry flopped down in a chair and threw up his hands.

“The worst of it is that I persuaded Liam to care for him. Even Mr. James warned me,” Harry groaned. “He was very cross because I had urged Liam to reject a proposal from Niall Horan.”

“That nice butcher?”

“I was right about _him_ ,” Harry said confidently. “Otherwise, I have made a dreadful mistake. I sought to bring two people together and I shall never do it again. Poor Liam.”

“He’ll get over it,” Matt said with a shrug.

“I wish I could ease the pain for him,” Harry moaned, tugging at his own unruly curls. “I have no idea who might be right for him. Calum Hood?”

“ _Harry!_ ”

“Too pert?”

“You _just said_ you would never try to match anyone again,” Matt said sternly.

“I just wish there were some way I could soften the news,” Harry said dejectedly.

“I’m afraid the best way is always the most straightforward.”

***

Harry waited longer than he should have to go visit Liam. His excuse was that his friend was still ill, but it was a poor one. Illness had never kept Harry from anyone’s side before, but Liam was good enough not to mention it.

“I have some news,” Harry began hesitantly. “About Mr. Grimshaw. He has had to leave town.”

“Why?” Liam asked innocently.

“In his letter to mother, he wrote that he is going to Bath to relax and meet new people.” Harry paused, hoping that Liam would pick up the line of conversation, but he just waited patiently for Harry to continue. So Harry took a deep breath and soldiered on. “I must admit myself grossly mistaken on the one subject which has occupied us for some time past.”

Liam sat quietly for a moment.

“Mr. Grimshaw,” he said finally. Harry nodded, focusing on the twisting of his hands in his lap.

“It is unhappy that _I_ captured his fancy,” Harry said to the floor. “Naturally I do not return the feelings but that does not make it any less of an embarrassment and I place the responsibility for this directly on my own shoulders.”

“I have always felt that I did not deserve Mr. Grimshaw’s affections,” Liam said morosely. “I cannot blame him for believing the same. I could never blame you. For being so kind a friend I could never have dreamed it possible.”

Harry wanted to cry. Liam was too good.

“I had always hoped that I might have something to teach you,” Harry sniffled. “Now I see that I should be lucky to resemble you in any small way.”

Harry convinced Liam to come with him back to Hartfield to see a new litter of puppies in the barn. Puppies could always lift the spirits. There were too many of them to be able to think about anything else.

“Who do you suppose Mr. Grimshaw is meeting while he is away?” wondered Liam, absently stroking the pup Harry offered.

“I don’t know.”

“I wonder when he will return,” Liam went on.

“You must try to empty your mind of Mr. Grimshaw, really, Liam” Harry suggested. He held up another puppy for Liam’s inspection. “Look at her eyes.”

Liam sighed miserably, and Harry felt his resolve crumbling.

“Mr. Grimshaw had brown eyes too.”

“Oh, Liam,” Harry said, placing the puppy back in with her mates, “there is only one place I can think of where you will not be able to speak of Mr. Grimshaw. Indeed, you may not be able to speak at all. Let us visit Little Mix.”

“All of them?” Liam inquired.

“Yes,” Harry assured him. “All of them.”

***

“What a special, special treat!” cried Miss Nelson.

“How lovely it is for you to come and visit us!” added Miss Pinnock, seated next to her on a tufted sofa.

“The best of it is that we were just speaking of a topic that would interest you both,” said Miss Edwards confidently. Harry hoped it was not Zayn Malik. “It’s a letter from Mr. Cowell, who has news of Mr. Grimshaw! He has been the toast of every young lady’s eye. Well, of course that can be of no surprise. To any of us.”

“Oh dear, Mr. Payne, you look pale, you must be hungry,” tiny Miss Thirlwall observed. “Let me get you some cake.”

“Isn’t it nice to have visitors!” Miss Pinnock said happily, to no one in particular.

“The most amazing thing just happened,” Miss Edwards went on. “Jesy was just asking about Zayn Malik, asking about any news from him, though she knew it was not Zayn’s day for writing. Remember, not Zayn’s day?” she nodded around to her companions.

“You see, we always have a letter from Zayn on Tuesday, and today as you must know is Thursday,” said Miss Thirlwall as she handed Liam a plate.

“So I said, Jesy, we have had a letter from Zayn this very morning!” put in Miss Pinnock. “And Jesy said, but it’s Thursday!” The ladies giggled.

“You see, Zayn writes on Tuesdays, and this is Thursday,” said Miss Nelson. “And I said, upon my honor.” The ladies all giggled again, as if this was something particularly funny.

“Might you summarize the letter?” Harry suggested hopefully.

“And cheat you out of the pleasure of hearing it, Mr. Styles, as only Zayn can put things?” asked Miss Edwards. “Upon my honor, I would not. Come, where’s the letter?”

“Here it is,” said Miss Thirlwall, handing a neatly folded paper to Miss Edwards.

“And now… Oh yes, now, the bad new is he has a cold,” Miss Edwards said in a very serious tone. “But the good news far outweighs it. Far, far, far.”

“He is coming to visit!” cried Miss Nelson.

“And you must be here, to help us with him, Mr. Styles, when he comes,” Miss Pinnock said fondly, “because it wouldn’t be a proper visit otherwise.”

Harry smiled politely, and nodded at Liam, who sat with a fork pressed to his lips and looking stunned. The Little Mix ladies could be a tad overwhelming to the uninitiated.

***

Zayn Malik arrived in Highbury within a week, and Harry found himself there to welcome him with the ladies, though once he caught sight of Mr. Malik, Harry refused to believe that he and Miss Edwards were in any way related. If anything, they were lovers—or former lovers, now friends. No cousins he had ever known had behaved toward each other the way Miss Edwards and Mr. Malik did; too close and yet too stiffly formal at the same time to even it out. And to top it all off, Mr. Malik was stunningly handsome, even dressed in somber black from head to toe.

Harry really wanted to hate him. So he made the effort to be extra polite and engage him in conversation and actually listen to his tale.

Mr. Malik had been serving as a tutor for the sons of the Riach family for many years. It was much the same story as Harry and Matt: the boys had grown, one had married, and they had less need of Mr. Malik, even though they loved him and he loved them. It made Harry feel a kinship with this young man, whom he had never anticipated to like at all, given the incessant praise lavished upon him by his friends. It was enough to drive anyone mad.

So the Riachs went to Ireland on holiday and Mr. Malik came to Highbury.

“Tell Mr. Styles whom you saw in Weymouth, Zayn,” Miss Edwards suggested.

“Louis Tomlinson, that’s who he saw!” interrupted Miss Thirlwall excitedly. “Mr. Louis Tomlinson!”

“We hear much of him but we have never seen him,” Harry said to Mr. Malik. “Was he handsome?”

“Many say he is.”

“Was he agreeable?” asked Harry.

“He was in no way disagreeable.”

“Was he a man of information?” Harry continued, feeling a bit tetchy.

“All his statements seemed correct.”

No, Harry was sure he would _not_ be friends with Zayn Malik.

***

Mr. James met Harry in the solarium, where he clipped and trimmed his mother’s orchids with some irritation.

“He is absolutely impossible,” Harry declared. “He wouldn’t tell me anything about Louis Tomlinson.”

“Why should you care so much about Louis Tomlinson?” Mr. James wondered.

“I was merely being sociable, that’s all, and he was not.”

“Perhaps you dislike him because he divides our attentions from you,” suggested Mr. James in a knowing manner. Harry simply glared at him and continued to snip away spent blossoms. “Oh, I have some news. And I know how you like news.”

“I do,” agreed Harry.

“Mr. Grimshaw is going to marry.”

Harry clipped the tip of his finger.  The flow of blood effectively changed the topic of conversation.

***

It rained a good deal in the spring.  It forced Harry to curtail some of his social activity, which pleased his mother, but did not please him at all.  He was bored and fidgety, but he most definitely did not like to be wet.  His hair was impossible.

Liam didn’t seem to care one way or the other.  It was particularly stormy one day when Liam surprised Harry in the library at Hartfield.

“I’m in a state of complete shock!” Liam said by way of greeting.  Harry widened his eyes but let his friend continue.  “I was on my way here for our visit and it started raining—“

“Clearly.”

“So I ducked into Ford’s to wait it out,” Liam went on, ignoring Harry’s interruption.  “Who should come in but Greg and Niall Horan!  They saw me and began whispering, and then Mr. Horan, my Mr. Horan, was coming toward me.  I said I had to go, but then he followed me.  I was not three steps outside and he said, Mr. Payne, you’d better go by Mr. Cowell’s stable; the near way is flooded.”  Liam took a shaky breath.  “Mr.Styles, do talk and make me comfortable again.”

Harry sighed.

“This was awkward, because it was the first time you have seen Mr. Horan since refusing his proposal,” he said.  “Now, the kindest thing you can do for yourself is to put Mr. Horan out of your head for good.”

“I shall do so immediately,” Liam said firmly.

“Wonderful!” Harry cheered.  “Now, I thought we might sketch the puppies. Would you join me?”

“Yes, please,” Liam said agreeably, smoothing down his coat. “It was awfully kind of him to warn me about the flooding.”

“It was.”

“He got his coat wet coming out to tell me,” Liam pointed out.

“That’s unfortunate.”

“That’s the coat him mother gave him for his birthday,” Liam clarified helpfully.

“Ah,” Harry replied, hoping his disinterest was clear as he slowly made his way to the door.

“I do hope he does not catch cold…”

***

Harry took the first opportunity to leave the house once the weather cleared.  He was fairly house mad, and fresh air would do him good.  It was a fine, sunny day, and good to take the carriage out.

It was good, at least, until a sharp crack and a loud thump, and the carriage lurched to a stop in the middle of a stream.

Harry stood, peering over the side of the carriage at the wheels, then at the horse, as if he had done something to it.  Harry was just beginning to make out that there was something out of sorts just under the water line when splashing caught his attention.

It was a young man on a horse.  He wore a fine coat and a ridiculous hat, and had clear blue eyes that crinkled merrily when he smiled.  Harry was struck.  The men of his acquaintance were all particularly handsome.  It was rather lucky.

“Is your horse just washing his feet or are there darker forces at work here?” he asked cheerfully.

“The latter, I am afraid,” replied Harry with his most charming smile.  “Something has happened to the wheel and I cannot move.”

“Oh.  Bye!” the young man said inexplicably.  Harry gaped at him in astonishment as he rode slowly around Harry’s carriage, looking at it assessingly.  “I suppose that won’t do. I will help you home.”

“Thank you so much, Mr...?”

“Tomlinson.  Louis Tomlinson.”

“A name I know as well as my own so long have I heard it spoken!” Harry said happily.  “Your brother’s husband was my tutor.”

“Then you are Mr. Styles,” Mr. Tomlinson said with a tip of his hat.  “How delightful! I hear of nothing but you.”

“The last I heard from them you were not due til tomorrow.”

“It is always a pleasure to come in on one’s friends before the lookout begins,” Mr. Tomlinson said with a cheeky grin.  “I would not presume to do so in most cases, but I felt in coming home I might be forgiven.”

“Then you have not seen them?” Harry wondered.  “We will have to go there first, they will be overjoyed.”

 “Overjoyed, I think, that we are both there together.  As I am.”

***

The Cowells were the next to host a party in Highbury.  Mr. Cowell was a successful merchant, and everyone in town did business with him. Harry was excited, for it meant that it was the first social gathering wherein Louis Tomlinson would be in attendance as well.  They had got on extremely well at their first meeting.  Mr. Tomlinson was amiable and charming, handsome and intelligent, and he kept Harry on his toes.

“I cannot tell you how delighted I am to be invited, Mrs. Cowell,” Harry said graciously, as he was let in to the parlor.  She smiled shyly and gestured to the middle of the room, where he immediately caught sight of the much anticipated Mr. Tomlinson.

“Isn’t it handsome?” Mr. Tomlinson wondered, hands sweeping along the lines of a shiny new pianoforte.

“I heard today that there is a much prettier one in town and it has been sent to Zayn Malik,” said Mrs. Cowell.

“Really?” Mr. Tomlinson exclaimed, “and who sent it to him?”

“That’s the exciting part!” replied Mrs. Cowell, warming up to the newcomers.  “There was no identification at the delivery.”

“It must have been Colonel Riach,” suggested Mr. Aiden Cardle-Grimshaw, joining in from across the room.

“But Zayn just had a letter from them and not a word was said,” said Mrs. Cowell, shaking her head.

“Perhaps it is a surprise,” put in Mr. Tomlinson, a smile playing at his lips.

“Why do you smile?” Harry wondered.

“I am smiling because I wonder if there is anyone else whom we should suspect of being Mr. Malik’s musical patron. Do you know him?”

“Yes,” Harry said shortly, “he’s very elegant.”

“Colonel Riach’s son, Daniel Lucas-Riach is Mr. Malik’s dearest friend. So perhaps he sent the piano.”

“Mr. Lucas-Riach, that makes sense,” Harry said slowly, thinking it over.

“As much sense do you think as the other Mr. Lucas-Riach? I cannot help suspecting that Mr. _Stanley_ Lucas-Riach fell in love with Mr. Malik too,” proposed Mr. Tomlinson.  “That is why he did not go on the holiday with the Riachs. Instead he came here. Do you see? Now that Mr. Lucas is married into the Riachs he would have been there. I think that in coming here, Mr. Malik was telling Mr. Lucas that he wanted to forget him. And I think that with the pianoforte, Mr. Lucas wasn’t allowing it. Of course it’s just a theory. Let us see how he reacts sometime when we say the name Mr. Lucas-Riach.”

Harry’s head spun.  Louis Tomlinson was a fast talker, and the ideas he gave forth were much cause for contemplation.  He didn’t have time to mull it over, however, as the party had just begun.

Matt Cardle-Grimshaw found Harry not long after his exchange with Mr. Tomlinson.

“Mr. James drove Zayn and Perrie in his carriage tonight,” Matt began, his eyes sparkling with something like mischief.  “A suspicion has been started in my head which I simply cannot get rid of.”

“Do not take to matchmaking, you do it ill,” Harry scoffed.  “Zayn Malik and Mr. James?  Every feeling revolts.”

“What if the pianoforte is from Mr. James?” Matt suggested.  Harry tossed his head and rolled his eyes, two habits he knew his former tutor found supremely irritating.

“You take up an idea and run wild with it,” Harry chided gently.  “Look, they are not even together.  Zayn is with Louis, poor man.”

“Perhaps the two of them stay apart publicly to keep it a secret!” Matt whispered gleefully.  Harry tucked his curls behind his ear and patted his friend on the shoulder before moving on.  Perhaps Matt’s husband would talk more sensibly.

***

Later, Mr. Cowell asked Harry to play the new pianoforte for the party.

“I fear I lack the talent,” Harry replied modestly.

“Perhaps I should ask Mr. Malik?” suggested Mr. Cowell.

Harry forced himself to walk serenely across the room, not stomp over to the instrument and sit down in a huff.  He was not half way through the song when Louis Tomlinson stood and suddenly joined in.  Harry was surprised, but pleasantly so.  Their voices twined together perfectly, and the song ended to enthusiastic applause.

Harry begged off playing another song, so Zayn took his place at the pianoforte.  Louis remained as his accompanist, and Harry found a seat alone.  The fact that Zayn was indeed a better instrumentalist only rankled his nerves further.

“Doesn’t he play marvelously?” Mr. James asked in a low voice, startling Harry out of his surly reverie.

“Yes,” Harry had to admit.  “How sweet to lend your carriage to him so his fingers would be warm enough for the performance.”

“Your playing was lovely,” Mr. James added.

“Not compared to Mr. Malik,” Harry grumbled.

“No,” Mr. James agreed.  Harry whipped his head up to see him smirking.  “It was very elegant.”

 Harry wished it was proper to kick someone in public.  Greg James could do with a good swift kick.

***

The next day, Mr. Tomlinson visited Harry at Hartfield.

“Mr. Styles, you must forgive my intrusion but my aunt has become ill,” Louis said breathlessly. “It is nothing serious, but my presence might bring her solace, therefore I must return. And although I expect my brother at any moment, I could not leave without stopping here.”

“Not even five minutes to spare for your friends in Highbury?  How unlucky,” said Harry.

“Oh, no no no, I stopped there on my way here,” Mr. Tomlinson said as a matter of course. “After all their kindness, I don’t wish to slight them. But it is not Little Mix, nor my aunt, that occupy my thoughts as I prepare to leave. There is something much more personal that I must say to you. I think you can hardly be without suspicion that I have developed certain feelings for someone of a most tender and devoted nature, which so far I have striven to hide. Yet you have always made me feel so wonderfully at ease, such a friend since my very arrival, it no longer seems honorable to keep them from you.  In short, Mr. Styles, I cannot help but to say—“

Aiden Cardle-Grimshaw came in like a gust of wind, anxiety clearly written across his face.

“Matt has promised to correspond,” Mr. Tomlinson went on, leaning in. “In his letters I will be at Highbury, and here again, with you.”

Harry sat for a long time in the parlor by himself, turning over Mr. Tomlinson’s words in his head.  He had been about to confess his love.  That was the only reasonable explanation Harry could devise.  He was flattered, to be sure, but it made him think.  He liked Louis, to be sure.  But was he in love?

***

Harry was grim at the prospect of meeting Mr. Grimshaw’s new wife.  They were coming for tea, and he would be forced to be charming and polite to them for hours.  Harry knew little of the new Mrs. Grimshaw, aside from what Mr. James had mentioned in passing.  She was indeed one of the wealthy young ladies from Bath—the Flacks, and it made Harry wonder about Mr. Grimshaw.  Was a fortune of twenty-thousand pounds worth one’s happiness?  Harry thought not, but then Harry had never had to worry about fortune.  His late father had been fabulously wealthy and had left them all quite comfortably settled.

Mrs. Grimshaw was tall and statuesque, with golden hair.  She was lovely, and yet Harry wondered what qualities she possessed that made her an acceptable substitute for himself, aside from a willingness to participate in an indifferent marriage, at best.  Harry forced that train of thought out of his head; it was horribly uncharitable of him.  People married for many different reasons, and Mr. Grimshaw could marry anyone he chose.  Harry shouldn’t begrudge him his choice simply because it was not the one Harry had made for him.

Mrs. Grimshaw chatted away as Harry led her on a quick tour of Hartfield with her husband trailing along.  He almost felt sorry for Mr. Grimshaw, if she felt it necessary to talk so at every occasion.  She was lovely, to be sure, but Mrs. Grimshaw was rarely silent, even when they peeked into the library and saw Lady Anne asleep in a chair by the fire.

“We are quiet people,” Harry said softly, hoping to convey a hint to Mrs. Grimshaw.

“Your mother’s health must be a great drawback to your seeing the country,” Mrs. Grimshaw said in a low voice.  “Why does she not try Bath? It would do her a world of good.”

“We have tried it before without receiving any benefit,” Harry replied, trying to move the conversation—and them—along without waking his mother.

“It _will_ do her good, if only to improve her spirits, which I must understand are sometimes much depressed,” Mrs. Grimshaw whispered loudly.  “You must take her!  A line from me and you would have some of the best society in the place. And my particular friend there—“

“I am afraid that going to Bath is out of the question,” Harry said decisively.  Mrs. Grimshaw raised her eyebrows at him, but for once held her tongue.

Tea was quiet and awkward.  Harry opened his mouth several times to attempt to restart conversation, but found nothing would come out.  Searching his mind, he finally found a topic he thought would not be too disagreeable.

“Mrs. Grimshaw, I have not asked you if you are musical, and that is because your reputation has preceded you,” Harry began carefully.  “All the town knows that you are a superior performer.”

Mrs. Grimshaw brightened visibly, as did Mr. Grimshaw, who had been quiet and withdrawn.  He had spoken rarely on their visit, even with what little opportunity to do so given by his garrulous wife.

“Well, I am dotingly fond of music, and my friends say I am not entirely devoid of taste,” replied Mrs. Grimshaw.  Harry quirked his mouth at her odd turn of phrase and she continued.  “In fact, I told Mr. G, when he asked me to marry, I said I did not have to have two carriages, and I could even accept a smaller house.  My house before was a good deal roomier, I assure you. But no, the world is not necessary to me because I am blessed with so many resources… in here.”  She pressed her palm to her heart.  “But, said I, without music, my life would be a blight. You and I should establish a musical club! And we could have regular meetings at your house or ours. I don’t want to give up my talent.”

“Mrs. Grimshaw, I am certain it would take something more dramatic than a change of town to dislodge a thing as great as your talent,” said Harry.  It was a fine line between sarcasm and polite praise, but Harry liked to straddle it as best he could.  Mrs. Grimshaw beamed at him, and her husband in turn.

“Oh!” she cried, suddenly reminded by the look on Mr. Grimshaw’s face, or somesuch, “we met the Cardle-Grimshaws.  Matthew is already a favorite with me, and I was astonished that he was so gentlemanlike.  Was he not your tutor?”

“His modest propriety makes him a fine model for any man,” Harry replied stiffly.

“And do you know who came in while we were there?”

 “I cannot imagine,” said Harry dryly.

“James.”

“ _James?”_

“Yes, James. Mr G’s friend. Well there’s one friend of whom we need not be ashamed. _Quite_ the gentleman.”

***

Harry and Liam rode to town in the carriage on an unspecified errand.  Harry mostly felt the need to get out of the house.

“ _James!_ ” Harry spat.  “Never seen him before and she called him James!  Only thing worse is if she had gone straight to Greg!”

“I saw her at church. She seemed—“

“Vulgar? Base? Conceited? Crass?” Harry suggested.  “She actually seemed pleased to discover that Mr. James was a gentleman! I doubt he would return the complement and find her a lady.”  Harry huffed and fidgeted in his seat.  “She proposed we form a musical club. Is it possible Mr. Grimshaw met her while doing charitable work in a mental infirmary? There is only one thing to do with a person as impossible as she.”

“What?” Liam asked hesitantly.

“I must throw a party for her. Otherwise everyone will feel at once how much I dislike her.”

***

Harry was horrified to be waylaid by Mrs. Grimshaw after church.  Hadn’t she duties of some sort to perform as the vicar’s wife?

“We are so excited about the party” she exclaimed, clutching at Lady Anne’s sleeve.  Harry didn’t like it when people touched his mother.  She was delicate. “Do you know who I just adore? Who I want to wrap up and put in my pocket? Zayn Malik. I rave about him. You know what I admire most about him? He’s timid. I am a great advocate for timidity. But I dare say you know the lines of the poet: for many a flower is born to blush unseen. We must not allow them to be verified by sweet Zayn.”

“There is no danger of that,” Harry suggested when Mrs. Grimshaw paused for breath.

“Every advantage he has got from the Riach’s have palpably come to an end. But if you and I set the example, many will follow. We live in a style that would not make the addition of Zayn Malik the least inconvient. I am simply going to adopt him, and I think that you should do it with me.”

Of course.  Of course she did.  It was all Harry could do not to roll his eyes in public.

***

Harry spent the afternoon in the garden at the Cardle-Grimshaw’s with Matt and Mr. James.  It was a favorite spot of theirs, a group of benches shaded by climbing vines, not far from the house.  They often spent like days together as such, after church, discussing the news and events from town.

“For the first time in my life I felt sorry for Zayn Malik,” Harry remarked.  “Whatever he has done, he does not deserve Mrs. Grimshaw.”

“Zayn may be glad of Mrs. Grimshaw’s attention,” said Mr. James, inexplicably.  Harry made a face at him and Matt frowned at him for it.

“He seems to receive ample attention from _you_.”

“Anyone may know my regard for him,” Mr. James said plainly.

“Oh?” Harry pressed.  “Do you know how high it is?”

“Oh,” echoed Mr. James.  “ _Oh_.  So you two have been settling that I should marry Zayn Malik.”

“ _No_ ,” Harry replied firmly, pulling another face.  Matt sighed.

“Zayn Malik is a very charming young man,” Mr. James declared. “But he lacks an open temper which a man wishes for in a spouse. I have admiration for him, but no thought beyond.  Not at all.”  Mr. James sat back and crossed his arms over his chest with a huff.  “I see Aiden is at home. I am going to see him.”

Harry and Matt watched as Mr. James escaped to the house.  When he was safely gone, Harry turned to Matt with an arched eyebrow.

“Well, what do you say about your suspicions now?”

“He seemed very occupied with his not being in love with Zayn,” Matt replied. “It seems certain that he is.”

***

Harry threw his party for Mrs. Grimshaw as he had promised.  He invited all the usual people:  the neighbors, his friends from Highbury.  Everyone seemed to love Harry, so it was no hardship to acquire a great deal of people at the house.

“It was most kind of you to invite Zayn Malik this evening,” remarked Mr. James in a quiet moment away from most of the others.

“Your words the other day shamed me,” said Harry contritely, dipping his head so that his curls drooped in his eyes. “I have not tried as I should have.”

“You are capable of great kindness,” Mr. James said gently.

“I fall short so often. And I highly doubt you will find _this_ a kindness.”  Harry pointedly watched as Mrs. Grimshaw approached Zayn.

“Zayn, you are a very, very fragile creature and you pay no regard to the delicacy of your constitution!” Mrs. Grimshaw scolded, while rapping Zayn smartly on the arm several times. “ _Zayn_ … James! Help us!”  She waved him over.  “Zayn went to the post office today in the rain. A great peril to his health! Oh Zayn, you sad boy. This is a sign that I was not there to take care of you. James, tell him!”

“I am sure he knows what he can endure, Mrs. Grimshaw,” Mr. James said absently.  Mrs. Grimshaw shot him a scandalized look and he changed his tack.  “Do take care of yourself,” he said to Zayn softly.

The party continued in fine fashion, and Harry joined in or listened to many interesting conversations.  He was particularly happy to speak with Aiden Cardle-Grimshaw again, as, so it would seem, was he.

“I had some good news that I was eager to share, Harry,” said Aiden, when Harry finally got the chance to talk to his neighbor.  “Louis’ aunt is on the mend, and Louis is taking a house in Highbury!”

“Good news indeed!” Harry fairly cheered.  He was very happy that his new friend would be making himself at home.  So too was Mrs. Grimshaw.

“Well, well, well, I shall have to do something with Mr. G to welcome him,” she announced. “Highbury is a little different since he left, you know.  There has been an addition; if I may presume to call myself an addition. Personally I wouldn’t, but I think Mr. Louis Tomlinson will find one or two small changes in the vicinity since he last came to see his good brother.”

Harry smiled, for what more could he do with Mrs. Grimshaw?

***

Following Harry’s party for Mrs. Grimshaw, the next social event in Highbury was to be a ball at the Cardle-Grimshaw’s to welcome Louis, as Mrs. Grimshaw had suggested.  Harry discussed it at length with Mr. James, though his friend was less than enthusiastic about it.

“I can think of nothing less appealing than an evening of watching other people dance,” Mr. James complained, throwing a stick for his dogs to fetch.  The two beasts clambered after it like enormous puppies, and Harry laughed at them as well as his friend.

“You shall have to dance yourself,” Harry said finally.

“I have no taste for it,” Mr. James said sourly, making another throw.  “I’d rather fetch that stick.”

“I’ll try to remember to bring it to the ball,” Harry replied cheekily.  Mr. James scowled at him, but Harry just laughed.

“I just want to stay here where it’s cozy.”

Cozy is not how Harry would have described Donwell Abbey; not in a million years.

***

The day of the ball at the Cardle-Grimshaw’s, Harry decided to arrive early, ostensibly to offer his services to Aiden and Matt.  It seemed, though, that practically everyone had the same idea.

Mr. Tomlinson seemed nervous and distracted.  Harry could sympathize: a ball in his honor, new to the neighborhood, and anxious to please his brother.  It was right that Louis was fitful, even if his fidgeting made Harry want to sit him down in a corner with a cup of tea.  That thought made Harry realize that he wasn’t in love with Louis.  He hadn’t really thought about him much while he was gone, and his concern was definitely of the friendly variety.  He was sad for a moment, but he hardly had the time to dwell on it.

When the music began, Harry immediately found himself partnered with Mr. Tomlinson, whose nervous energy served him well in the dance.  Harry was pleased, for they did make a handsome couple, but he could see Liam off to the side, all alone.

Harry’s unsubtle signals caught Matt’s attention and he immediately took action.

“Do you not dance, Mr. Grimshaw?”

“Most readily, Mr. Cardle-Grimshaw, if you will be my partner,” Mr. Grimshaw replied almost cheekily.

“Oh dear, not me. I am no dancer,” Matt replied quickly.  “Let me find a better partner for you.”

“Oh, I am an old married man. I should enjoy dancing with Mrs. Gilbert.”

“Mrs. Gilbert told me she does not mean to dance this evening, but I do see a young person whom I should like to see dancing:  Mr. Payne,” said Matt smoothly.

“Mr. Payne,” Mr. Grimshaw said slowly. “I had not observed him there. Well you are most obliging to have pointed him out to me, and were I not an old married man, I should gladly do the job, but my dancing days are over.”

Mr. Grimshaw gingerly made his way across the room and disappeared in the crowd.  Since Harry was dancing with Louis, he clearly saw the interaction with Matt.  Liam, however, heard it.  Harry was distressed.  He couldn’t abandon Louis in the midst of a dance, yet he desperately wanted to support his friend.

Mr. James came to the rescue, drawing Liam into the figure and joining the dance.  Liam’s smile shone brightly, and Harry couldn’t help but to mirror the look on his face.  In his eyes, the ball was a complete success.

As the song finished, Harry passed Louis off to Zayn Malik, and rushed off to find Mr. James.  It was loud inside, with the music and the large number of people, so they moved out onto the terrace to talk.

“I can only say that at the moment you took him to the floor I was proud to call you my friend,” Harry said happily.

“The Grimshaw’s are unpardonable,” Mr. James scoffed. “I must say they ended up wounding more than just Liam. They seemed to want to snub you too, Harry. Why? Certainly Mrs. Grimshaw has no reason to dislike you.”  Harry looked out into the darkness, but Mr. James stepped closer.  “Confess now, old friend. You did want him to marry Liam.”

“I did, and they cannot forgive me,” Harry replied, drooping. “Oh dear. How could I have made such a misjudgement? What is the point in me being almost twenty when there is still so much for me to learn?”

“You know more than you realize.”

“I know I must own to you about being completely wrong about Mr. Grimshaw. There is a littleness to him that you discovered that I did not,” Harry admitted sheepishly.

“In return for your acknowledging so much I say that you chose for him better than he chose for himself,” Mr. James replied.  “Liam Payne has some first rate qualities about him that Mrs. Grimshaw is entirely without. Your friend surprised me. Most pleasantly.”

Harry looked up at his friend with a look full of happiness and pride.  He was not only proud of Mr. James, but also of Liam. And of himself, for that matter.  Mr. James smiled down at him, and Harry found himself well pleased.

“Harry, the last dance,” Aiden said, suddenly at the terrace door.  “Will you come and set the example for your companions?”

“Gladly.”  Harry grinned and looked expectantly at Mr. James.

“Whom are you going to dance with?” Mr. James wondered.

“With you, if you will ask me,” Harry said with a smirk. “You have shown yourself a fine dancer despite all your protests, and it would not be improper for us to dance.  After all, we are not brothers.”

“ _Brothers!_   No, no. Indeed we are not.”  His face was a confusing mix of surprise and sadness.  Harry could not understand why Mr. James would be either surprised or saddened by such a relationship with him, but he didn’t have long to dwell on it because Mr. James led Harry to the dance floor for the last song of the evening.  Liam danced with Louis, and for a moment, all was right with the world.

***

Harry and Liam walked along the lane to Harry’s house.  Liam had some news he wished to share with Harry, but he refused to tell him until they reached Hartfield.  They walked and chatted about the ball, and found themselves walking into a gypsy camp.

“Let us move a touch more quickly,” Harry suggested under his breath, and Liam obliged, picking up the pace.

But they had captured the attention of the men alongside the road, who quickly overtook and surrounded them.  Liam and Harry were frozen and silent in the face of this menacing group.  One man took a step closer, but a shout stopped him.

“Stand aside!” 

Louis Tomlinson strode down the lane brandishing his walking stick, his face a mask of furious determination.  The gypsies took several steps back, then scattered into the woods.  Louis closed in on Harry and Liam, who were shaken, but unharmed.

Back at Harry’s house, Liam poured grateful praise on Mr. Tomlinson.

“How I ever thank you? How brave you were,” Liam said effusively.  Louis blushed and ducked his head under the attention.

“Mr. Styles will make things right. If I am no longer needed, I must leave now to meet my brother,” he said gently, before making sure all was well and slipping out the door.

“Goodness,” Harry sighed.  “What an afternoon.”

“I wanted to do something I should have done long ago,” Liam said after a period of silence. “I have come to a decision about Mr. Grimshaw. I am done with him. I shall never forget him or his wife at the ball.”  Liam paused, looking down at his hands.  “To prove my sincerity, I shall now destroy something which I had thought to treasure always. You know what this is, of course.”  He pulled something from his waistcoat pocket and held it up.  “Can you have forgotten? Mr. Grimshaw cut his finger and you urged me to bind the wound. I cut too much bandage so I trimmed it, and he played with the extra little bit while I finished it up. He left it by his chair. And I, in my nonsense, made it a treasure.”

“Dear Liam,” Harry said sadly.

“But here is something which truly was his.”  Liam pulled a tiny pencil stump out of his pocket.  “He left it here once, and I took it. I used to take it and hold it, but no more. I want to be rid of these things, with you as my witness. I think I should burn them.”

“I think it would be a wise and relieving thing to do,” Harry replied, a little wide-eyed at Liam’s suggestion, but at a loss as to an alternative.

Liam got up and threw them in the fireplace.  Harry just hoped it was as meaningful as Liam seemed to believe.

***

June found Harry and all of his friends out in the meadow picking strawberries.  Everyone was happy to be out in the bright sunshine:  Liam, Louis, Zayn, Mr. James, of course, Aiden and Matt, all the Highbury ladies, and even Mr. and Mrs. Grimshaw.

“When you get married, you must eat strawberries at your wedding,” Harry said to Liam in a private moment.

“I shall never marry,” Liam replied morosely.

“Really?” Harry wondered, sitting back on his heels.  “I was certain you were developing feelings for someone. The service he rendered you would endear him naturally.”

“I cannot tell you how I felt when I saw him come to my rescue,” Liam whispered excitedly. “I went from agony to utter happiness at the sight of him!”

“He is a fine choice for you,” said Harry sagely. “But do not let your feelings go until you are sure of his. I give you this caution now because I am determined never to interfere. I will not even say his name to you--only that raising your thoughts to him is a mark of your very good taste.”

Liam smiled down at his basket of berries, and Harry felt very pleased with himself.

The party picnicked in the meadow for tea, everyone spread out on soft blankets with baskets brimming full of food.  Some of the berries made it into their mouths as well, and all in all, Harry was quite satisfied with how things were turning out.

But then Mrs. Grimshaw opened her mouth.

“I have some wonderful news,” said she.  “I have found a position for you. It is with a choice family in Bath, and the position is one of—“

“I am most obliged, but I would not consider leaving Highbury,” Zayn said in a low voice.  Harry was flabbergasted.  He had never heard Zayn say anything contrary to any person in the course of their entire acquaintance.  He was very proud.

“As your protector, I cannot allow you to feel that way,” Mrs. Grimshaw retorted. “I am sure everyone agrees with me. What are your options? After all, Zayn.”

“These sandwiches are delicious, Mrs. Grimshaw,” interrupted Mr. Tomlinson. “You really are a gourmet.”  Harry fought to roll his eyes.  Gourmet, indeed.  It was a sandwich.

“Well, I never compliment myself, but my friends tell me I certainly know how to make a sandwich. Now, Zayn—“

“Shall we all play a game?” Mr. Tomlinson cut in again.  “I command that we each tell Mr. Styles something entertaining. You may offer one thing very clever, two things moderately clever, or three things very dull indeed.  And in return, Mr. Styles will laugh heartily at them all.”

Mrs. Grimshaw sat in silence for a moment, and for that, Harry was grateful, but the feeling as well as the silence didn’t last for long.

“I do not pretend to be a wit,” Mrs. Grimshaw said stonily, “though I have a great deal of vivacity in my own way, of course. These diversions are tolerable at Christmas when the family is around the fire, but in my opinion it wastes the outdoors. Mr. Styles, you must excuse me.”

“And me,” added Mr. Grimshaw, whose voice was rarely heard outside of the Sunday sermon since his marriage. “I am an old married man. I have nothing to say that would please Mr. Styles, or any young person.”

“I need not be uneasy,” giggled Miss Edwards. “As long as we are allowed three dull things. I am sure to say three very dull things as soon as I open my mouth, shan’t I?”

“That may be a difficulty,” said Harry grumpily.

“I am sure I never fail to say things very dull,” said Miss Edwards.

“Yes dear,” Harry replied, “but you will be limited as to number: _only three_.”

“Oh. To be sure. Yes. I see. I see what he means,” said Miss Edwards haltingly. “I will try and hold my tongue.”  She looked up at Mr. James, seated next to her.  “I might make myself very disagreeable, or he would not have said such a thing to an old friend…”

“Miss Edwards, will you give me the pleasure of your company whilst I pick some more strawberries?” Mr. James said instead of an answer.

Mr. James helped Miss Edwards to her feet and led her away to indeed pick more strawberries.  Harry sat shamefaced on the blanket and avoided Matt’s disapproving eyes.

Unsurprisingly, it wasn’t long after that exchange that the party broke up and everyone began leaving for home.  Harry walked slowly along the line of carriages toward his own, doubting his every move.  He was out of sorts and ashamed of himself and tired of having to be polite and proper to everyone even if they didn’t deserve it.  Especially if they didn’t deserve it.

He hardly heard the steps approaching him.

“Harry, how could you be so unfeeling to Miss Edwards?” Mr. James said reproachfully.  “How could you be so insolent to a woman of her age and situation? I would not have thought it possible!”

“How could I help saying it?” Harry snapped.  “I dare say she did not understand me.”

“I assure you she felt your full meaning,” Mr. James said coldly. “She cannot stop mentioning it. I wish you could have heard her honor your forbearance in putting up with her when her society is so irksome!”

“I know there is no better creature in all the world, but you must allow that blended alongside the good there is an equal amount of the ridiculous in her,” Harry argued.

“Were she prosperous or a woman equal to you in situation I would not quarrel about any liberties of manner, but she is poor!” hissed Mr. James, “even more so than when she was born, and should she live to be an old lady she will sink further still. Her situation being in every way below you should secure your compassion! _Badly done, Harry!_ ”  Harry turned away hastily before Mr. James could see the tears spilling down his cheeks.  Mr. James went on in a gentler tone.  “It is not pleasant for me to say these things, but I must tell you the truth while I can, proving myself your friend by the most faithful counsel; trusting that sometime you will do my faith in you greater justice than you do it now.”

***

Harry visited Little Mix in Highbury, but they wouldn’t see him.  He trudged home dejectedly, only to find Mr. James there, talking with his mother.

“Ah, Harry has called on the Highbury ladies.  He always shows them such kindness,” said Lady Anne affectionately.

Harry hung his head.

“No, mother, they have been the ones to forbear and show me kindness.”

“Nonsense,” Lady Anne argued, “the charity that you have given them—“

“I have given them charity but not kindness, a virtue which some friends may doubt I still have,” Harry said sadly.

“The truest friend does not doubt, but hope,” Mr. James said, grasping Harry’s hand reassuringly. “I must go. I am leaving town to visit Charles and Gemma.”

“I am sorry that I was not here sooner so that we could have talked,” Harry said softly.

“So am I.”

“When will you be back?” asked Harry.

“I don’t know,” Mr. James replied. “There is a delicate and perplexing matter I must discuss with my brother.”

“Well then.”

***

Louis’ aunt died, and he too went away.  It surely improved Liam’s chances with him, since the aunt was sure to object.

Harry continued in his efforts to make amends with Miss Edwards.  Their relationship was not quite fully repaired, but he could feel a renewal of their friendship ahead.  Most people found it difficult to stay angry with Harry for long.  He almost felt guilty of taking advantage of that fact, if the alternative would not have been worse.

Harry frequently wished Mr. James was home.  He would not have found anything to reprove in Harry’s behavior.  That Harry also found himself regularly thinking of how Mr. James’ hand felt in his, it was another matter.

Aiden came running all the way to the door one day, and Harry went with him back to their house to talk with Matt.

“Louis is engaged,” Matt stated bluntly.

“I cannot believe it,” Harry said with a gasp. “So quickly?”

“Quickly?” Matt frowned, “the engagement has been in place for some time. Harry, Louis has been secretly engaged to <I>Zayn Malik</I>.”  Harry sat very still with his mouth agape.  “They have been engaged since October, formed at Weymouth through their friend, Stanley Lucas-Riach.”   _Mr. Lucas-Riach!_ “He kept it secret because he feared his aunt’s disapproval. He has hurt both his brother and me, most especially because of whom else it might hurt.”

“I cannot pretend that I do not understand what you mean by that, but let me give you all the relief in my power.” Harry said softly. “There was a time when I was attached to Louis. Fortunately, that has ceased and for some time I have felt nothing for him.”

“This was my greatest worry,” Matt said, sinking back into his chair. “I am certain you knew it was our wish you might be attached.  Imagine what we felt on your account.”

“There is no need to worry about that,” Harry said dismissively. “Although how could he have come here and treated me in this fashion? It is cruel, truly cruel.”

“Yes, dear, but I thought you said you felt nothing for him,” Matt pointed out.

“Yes, but he did not know that,” Harry countered.  “He is benefitting from a very lucky coincidence.”

“Now Harry, he is a good man, however wrong this action might be,” Matt assured him.  “Might I entreat you to put Aiden’s heart at ease? He has been as worried about you as I. Could you let him know how glad you are for Louis to have found someone of such steady character?”

“I do not know how steady his character could be, engaging himself to a man who pretends not to be engaged and then deceives attractive and feeling young men!” Harry muttered before turning and gesturing to Aiden, who had been lurking outside the window.

***

Harry left Matt and Aiden only to make his way immediately to Liam, where he was surprised to discover that he already knew about Louis and Zayn.

“Had I known I would have cautioned you,” Harry said.

“Cautioned me? Why?” asked Liam.  “You do not think that I care about <I>Louis Tomlinson?</I>”

“What do you mean? You said that you loved a man—“

“I did not name him, but I hope that I have developed better taste than to choose Louis Tomlinson over him,” Liam said evasively. “Furthermore, I never would have even dreamed of him except that you told me he was wonderful.”

“Yes, but I thought you meant—“

“That raising my thoughts to him was a sign of my good taste. Those were your words,” Liam reminded him.

“Yes, but I meant them in reference to—“

“And without having heard them I would never have dared to hope,” Liam said confidently.

“Liam, please,” Harry begged his friend. “Before we can go on there is something that I must clarify. Is it possible that you are speaking of Mr. James?”

“To be sure.”

“But you spoke of the service that Louis had done in rescuing you from the gypsies,” Harry said incredulously.

“Oh, I never said that.”

“I recall it with perfect clarity,” Harry objected.

“If I spoke of being rescued, I was thinking of Mr. James asking me to dance after Mr. Grimshaw snubbed me,” Liam said with a dreamy look in his eye.  “That was when I knew how superior a man he was.”

“Oh god. What is to be done?”  Harry slumped into a chair and held his head in his hands.

“Must something be done about it?” Liam asked innocently.  “You must think him 500 million times more above me than Mr. Tomlinson, yet you did say—“

“Liam, have you any idea of Mr. James returning your affection?” Harry asked softly.

“Yes, I must say that I have,” Liam said with a distinct note of pleasure in his voice. “You told me to let his behavior be the rule of mine and so I have.  Am I wrong to hope as I do?”

“Liam, I can only venture to declare that Mr. James is the last man on earth who would intentionally give anyone the idea of his feeling more for them than he really does,” Harry said miserably.

***

The walk to Matt and Aiden’s did nothing to calm Harry’s nerves.  Thankfully, Matt was in, and he received Harry in the garden.

“I have something to tell you,” Harry began cautiously.  Matt smiled and sat back, stretching his legs.

“You’re in love,” he stated, a smirk playing at his lips, “with Mr. James.”

“He’s gone to visit his brother in London,” Harry lamented.  “What does it mean?  He said he had important business to discuss.  Did he intend to tell Charles about Liam?  I hope his brother advises him to be careful.  After all, we know nothing about his parents, they could be pirates!”

“My dear, I like Liam very much, as I might remind you, do you,” Matt pointed out reasonably.  “Remember, Liam’s feelings are evidence of his feelings only. Nothing can be known until Mr. James returns.”

“I long for it and fear it at the same time,” Harry moaned. “I shall not know how to behave when I see him.”

“Let his behavior be your guide.”

“But if he seems happy I shall know that he has decided to marry Liam and I will not be able to let him tell me,” Harry declared.  “I could not bear to hear the words! But if he is sad I shall know that Charles has advised him not to marry Liam.  I love Charles!” Harry shouted, much to Matt’s amusement. “Or he may seem sad because he fears telling me he will marry my friend.  How could Charles let him do that?  I hate Charles!”  Harry threw himself forward and nearly pitched off his seat, but ended up with his head in his hands pulling his own hair.

“Harry, nothing can be done until he returns, and until he does, you must try to put him out of your mind.  Can you?” Matt wondered.

“Certainly I can,” Harry said, straightening.  “I may have lost my heart, but not my self control.”

***

Harry felt dejected upon leaving Matt.  He was no closer to knowing what he should do about Mr. James than he had been that morning.  The path between the two homes was one that usually brightened his spirits, but even on such a beautiful day he felt gloomy and dragged his feet like a petulant child.

As Harry approached the tiny chapel that marked the halfway point between the Cardle-Grimshaw estate and his own, Mr. James emerged, looking determined.  Harry froze.

“Why, Harry!” Mr. James exclaimed.  Harry couldn’t tell if he was pleased to see him or merely startled.

“Mr. James,” Harry replied, with a slight nod of his head.

“Forgive me, I was lost in my thoughts.”

“And how are you?” Harry asked carefully.  “ _Happy?_ ”

“Well, I’m happy to see you, as always,” Mr. James replied with a small smile.

“I didn’t know that you were back.”

“Just.”

“I am on my way home,” Harry said, nothing else coming to mind.

“I was just there. May I join you?”

“Of course,” Harry replied.

“Harry, there is something I have to ask.”

“Oh, wait. Now that you are back there is some news that will surprise you,” Harry offered, stalling.

“Of what nature is this news?” asked Mr. James curiously.

“The very best.  It is a wedding between—“

“Oh yes, between Zayn and Louis,” Mr. James interrupted. “Aiden Cardle-Grimshaw wrote to me.”

“Undoubtedly you were not surprised.  I seem doomed to blindness.”

“Time will heal your wound,” Mr. James said softly.

“My wound?”

“I know you must have been cruelly disappointed by the secret,” Mr. James clarified.  “He is a scoundrel.”

“You are kind, but I must tell you that I quickly saw that Louis lacked qualities—honesty being one of them—which are essential to me in any kind of friend.”

“Harry… is that true?”

“He imposed on me,” Harry admitted, feeling foolish, “but he has not injured me.”

“He got everything he wanted at great expense to others but no cost to himself,” Mr. James said bitterly.  “He offends me deeply. Yet there is something in his situation that I envy.”

“Did I mention that we are having a new drain installed?”

“You will not ask me the point of my envy,” Mr. James pressed. “Well perhaps you are wise, but I—I cannot be wise.  Harry, I must tell you what you will not ask, though I may wish it unsaid the next moment.”

“Then do not speak it,” Harry implored.  “Do not commit yourself to something which may injure us both to have said.”

“Harry—well.  Good day.”

Mr. James turned away and Harry watched him go until he had a change of heart.

“Mr. James!” Harry yelled, starting off down the path.  “Mr. James, I stopped you ungraciously just now and gave you pain. If you have any wish to speak to me openly about anything you might have in contemplation, as your friend I cannot refuse you. Indeed, as your old friend, I will hear whatever it is you wish to tell me.”

“Harry,” Mr. James sighed, “you want our friendship to remain the same as it has always been, but I cannot desire that.”

“But why?” Harry whined.  “I know I make mistakes but had you been here the last few days you would have seen how I have tried to change.  Please tell me I am your friend.”

“I do not wish to call you my friend… because I hope to call you something infinitely more dear,” Mr. James said softly, looking at the ground. “Have you not wondered why I never befriended Louis Tomlinson?  It was because I knew he was intended for you.”  Harry’s eyes widened, alarmed.  “Indeed, when you insulted Miss Edwards at the picnic, I thought that evidence of his influence over you.  And I could not bear to see it.  So I went away, but I went to the wrong place.  My brother’s house is usually a place of comfort to me, but seeing your sister there kept you fresh in my mind.”  Mr. James chanced a peek up to Harry’s face, and Harry smiled for him.  “And the torture, I assure you, was acute.  I only felt hope again when I heard of Mr. Tomlinson’s engagement.  And I rushed back, anxious of your feelings, keen to be near you.”  Harry held his breath.  “I rode through the rain. I’d ride through worse if I could just hear your voice telling me that I might at least have some chance to win you.”

“Mr. James, if I have not spoken it is because I am afraid I will awaken myself from this dream,” Harry said finally.  “It cannot be true.  But I feel so full of error, so mistaken in my makeup to deserve you.”

“What are my flaws?” asked Mr. James.  “I have humbled you, and I have lectured you, and you have borne it as no one could have borne it.  Maybe it is our imperfections which make us so perfect for one another.”  He stepped closer and took Harry’s hand.  “Marry me?  Marry me, my wonderful, darling friend.”

Mr. James stepped closer once more and Harry’s heart stopped beating.  The press of lips was gentle and chaste, but Harry thought it couldn’t have been better.  They parted, and Mr. James offered a little smile, suddenly shy.  Harry was fit to burst.

“Let’s go to your mother,” Mr. James said, so close that Harry could feel the puff of breath on his skin.

“Oh dear.”

“What?”

“I cannot marry you,” cried Harry miserably.

“Why not?” demanded Mr. James.

“ _My mother_ ,” Harry replied, breaking away.  “First my sister, then Matt.  I don’t think she could bear my leaving, even for a man she regards as highly as you.  I cannot marry you.  I cannot abandon her.  _I cannot_.”

“I could not secure your happiness while attacking your mother’s,” Mr. James said reasonably.  “As long as her joy requires your being at Hartfield, let it be my home too.”

Harry whirled back around to see that Mr. James was being serious.  A moment was all it took before Harry wrapped his arms around Mr. James’ shoulders in a tight hug.

“Now I need not call you Mr. James,” Harry said, giddy laughter bubbling up.  “I may call you _my_ Mr. James.”

Greg kissed him again, smiles on both their faces.

***

The elation Lady Anne felt was soon shared by many.  The Cardle-Grimshaws knew almost immediately.  It made Harry wonder if Matt had a spy at Hartfield to keep track of him.

Word soon spread to Highbury, where Little Mix and the Cowells and Zayn and Louis gave their congratulations.  While these exchanges lifted the hearts of the couple, there was one visit which did not.

Liam became quite upset when he visited Harry and learned of his engagement to Mr. James. Harry knew that the best chance for Liam’s happiness was that he might marry as well. But it seemed too much to hope that even Liam Payne could be in love with more than three men in one year.

Harry did not see Liam for several weeks and began to despair for their friendship.  But after a while, Liam visited again, finding Harry dead-heading his mother’s orchids in the greenhouse.

“Mr. Styles? May I come in?” Liam asked hesitantly from the door.

“You know you need never ask. Please do, and tell me how you’ve been.”  Harry set his pruners down and went to greet his friend.

“Yes, well, I stayed away at first because I thought it would be easier for me,” Liam admitted.  “And then I stayed away because I have something to tell you which I am afraid you will not like.”

“Liam,” Harry chided gently. “Nothing you could say could ever be unpleasant.”

“This is.  That is—I am afraid you will think it is, though I think it is as beautiful as a dream.  I have consented to marry Niall Horan.”

“Whatever happened?” Harry asked, taken aback.

“Well, after I left here the last time, I saw his brother at a party,” Liam explained.  “I fell easily into conversation with him, and soon enough, he invited me to dinner.  Mr. Horan was there, of course, and we talked as though we had never been apart.  As I left, he asked if he could see me the next day, and I said that he could.  And on the next day he asked if he could see me the day after that.  And on the day after that, he asked if he could see me all of the days ever after.  I know this disappoints you, but—“

“Liam, you mistake me,” Harry interrupted excitedly.  “This is the perfect end for my sad career as a matchmaker, a role I gladly relinquish for being instead so happily matched myself.  I hope you know that I only wanted your happiness.  Now that you have found it, it makes my own complete.”

***

Harry and Mr. James’ wedding was celebrated four weeks later.  It was as with most events in Highbury, with everyone in attendance.  Even Mr. and Mrs. Grimshaw were pleasant companions, having performed the ceremony and forgiven Harry his trespasses in turn.  After having gotten to know her better, Harry could admit that Caroline Grimshaw was a lovely woman—not nearly as prickly as she first seemed to be.  She suited Nick Grimshaw well, given how different their marriage agreement was to Harry’s and Greg’s.  It was not a love match, to be sure, but it worked for them, and no one could begrudge them that.

Harry and Greg became as those around them.  Matt and Aiden, Louis and Zayn, and even Liam and Niall Horan served as excellent examples for the formation of their most perfect union.


End file.
